The X-Project

Marie-Ange stayed over at Doug's last night. They decide that the gender switch is weird. Since this is already well established, they also restate other two well-established things. Doug is memetic, and Marie-Ange shops as therapy.



Doug came awake with a yawn and a stretch, his chest straining against the nightshirt he'd worn to bed. His eyes still closed, he rolled into the warm spot in the bed where he expected Marie-Ange to still be. He frowned and cracked an eye open when his outstretched arm hit the mattress. Obviously she'd gotten up before him.

After a few minutes, he roused himself and wandered out into the kitchen, where Marie-Ange was sitting. "You got up before me," he pouted, attempting to get sleep-tousled hair into some kind of order.

It was surprisingly comfortable to sit in Doug's kitchen with the shades open and her feet up on the table. Something she couldn't do in her own apartment, certainly, because her kitchen table was full of papers and art supplies. "I.. ah.. " Marie-Ange glanced towards the ceiling with a bemused expression and shrugged. "There was some discomfort.."

"Morning wood, huh?" Doug asked as he bent over to search through his refrigerator, nightshirt riding up his thighs. "Welcome to being a guy." He grinned as he extracted a carton of orange juice. "If you'd stayed in bed, I could've helped take care of it..."

"I would ask what has gotten into you, but you would turn that into even further innuendo." Marie-Ange said. "It was annoying. And then when it went away, I was hungry." She gestured to the half-eaten Pop-Tart and it's foil package on the plate on the table. "When did they make these in chocolate chip?"

"I'm sure I don't know what you mean," Doug joked as he poured himself a glass of orange juice before sitting down. "And what flavor -don't- they make Poptarts in these days?" he asked rhetorically.

"I am sure you do not." Marie-Ange agreed. She finished off her Pop-Tart, and brushed a few crumbs off her chest, and into her hand. "Perhaps I should have put a shirt on before having breakfast..." She mused. "It just seemed like a lot of work to go find one and put it on when I could just walk around without and no one would be bothered by it."

"Well, haven't we come a long way from the beginning of the week when you just wanted to wait for it to go away," Doug said admiringly. "Starting to get used to it, huh?" He took a long drink of his orange juice and leaned back in his chair.

"All the same, I will be glad to have my own real body back as soon as possible." As nice as it was to sit in the sun with no shirt on, it was not worth being in a strange body, with strange reactions. "The appeal of shopping for an entire new wardrobe notwithstanding, of course."

"Of course," Doug chuckled. Trust Marie-Ange to turn just about anything into an opportunity for shopping. "I already did that with Wanda pretty much first thing. I wasn't going to wear Em's underwear the entire week..."

Marie-Ange took a moment to picture Doug in underwear, simply because the oppurtunity was there. "Yes, and mine would not fit you." Doug had far too much... hips. chest. Curves. She shook herself and blinked a few times and then rubbed a hand over her cheek. "Oh God. I have -stubble-. This is... so strange."

"Do you want me to teach you how to shave?" Doug offered, then thought for a moment, reaching down to run a hand along his legs. "Oh god. I might have to shave my legs before prom. This is just weird."

"I ..think I can manage it." Marie-Ange answered, after a moment of thought. "You could just wear stockings, or..." She made a face.. "Pantyhose. Which are evil."

"Well, I already bought my dress," Doug said. And it was quite a dress at that. "We're going to need to get you a suit or tuxedo, depending on how dressed up you want to get," he told Marie-Ange with a grin.

"What is that expression you use, the one about learning to do things?" Marie-Ange asked. "If I am going to have to go out and be male, then I should do it properly. Which means a tuxedo, I think." She made a face, thinking about the idea of -renting- one, but buying one was just silly. And expensive. "But no bowtie. I would look silly in this body, with a bowtie."

"It's fine, lrn2ychromosome," Doug said cheekily to Marie-Ange. He didn't understand why she was so indulging of his tendency to spout random bits and phrases that she had no clue what they actually meant. "They make tuxedos with regular ties," he told her. "My dress is black, so you can pretty much wear whatever color you feel like."

With a very put upon sigh, Marie-Ange flicked the remaining piece of Pop-Tart at Doug, and unfolded her legs from where they still rested on the table. "I am going to go put on a pair of your jeans. And a shirt that does not have anything to do with dragons or fish-men. And then I am going shopping, and you are coming with me. I want a pair of those sneakers you have, and I want a pair for when I am a woman again, and you have the same size feet I do. And then, I am going to work."

"Original Chuck Taylors for the win!" Doug chirped. "Want to shower together to save time?" he asked with an innocent grin.